Words are the Voice of the Heart
by Gizzi1213
Summary: Leia contemplates her relationship with Han. Originally written as a Jedi Mistletoe gift for Firelady113 on LiveJournal. Leia/Han, Rated G, no warnings.


Memories, those mysterious thoughts and emotions stored in the sentient mind, represent the totality of a person's life. Everyone has them, although no two people have the same memories, not even of the same event, at the same time, at the same place. For some, memories are associated with sights, for others it is sounds. For yet others, the aroma of a favorite food can transport them across galaxies to their mother's home cooking.

Leia Organa, however, is a politician born and bred. As such, her life revolves around the dexterous use of words and the power they wield. Everything Leia holds most dear is wrapped in an embrace of words: her life, her work, and especially, her memories.

There is her favorite memory of her mother Breha Organa's encouraging words at Leia's fledgling diplomatic efforts as a young child attending her first State Dinner. Funny, thinking back on it now all these years later, she cannot remember even who the honored guest had been, but she remembered her mother's warm words of praise. "You were a perfect lady this evening, Leia," high praise indeed for the tomboy princess she had been at the time, "I am very proud of you." How her heart had swelled with happiness at those simple words.

She remembered her father, Bail, sitting on the edge of her bed, his normally handsome face tired and worn, eyes bloodshot from the tears he tried so valiantly not to shed in front of her. "No one is ever truly gone," Oh! How his broken heart had echoed through that word, "as long as one person remembers their name. Leia, your mother…," the word was too strong, his voice breaking over it, "…your mother loves…loved…you…." The memory fades out to murmurs of reassurance and comfort. The individual words do not matter, just the cadence of them flowing between two heart-broken people with a shared grief, facing their new reality.

So many other words filter through Leia's thoughts. The words that comprise a favorite joke shared among friends. How she dreaded the endless lectures of words about proper decorum and comportment expected of a princess; the even longer lectures that followed when she failed to heed them. Years later, during her time in the Senate, there are words to cajole a rival to her point of view and words to soothe the temper of a frustrated colleague.

Of the thousands of words she'd spoken in her life time, "Help me Obi-Wan Kenobi, you're my only hope" were her most desperate. How she regretted never having the opportunity to meet the man her brother Luke still mourned.

Brother! Now _there_ was a word she had never thought to associate with herself. After Tarkin (how she wished she had words vile enough to curse his name for all eternity!) had destroyed her beloved, peaceful Alderaan, she'd never thought to have anyone to call family again.

But now she had not only someone to call family, but a brother. And not just a brother, but a _twin_ brother. Twin. The word left her filled with awe. How could it not? They shared not only blood, but they'd shared a womb. Little had she known that day when a short stormtrooper entered her holding cell saying, "I'm Luke Skywalker. I'm here to rescue you," that her own response "You're who?" would be so ironic, for she too is a Skywalker by blood. Luke always insists that he is the older of the two, but Leia is just as convinced of the opposite. It has become something of a running joke between them, each calling the other "younger." It was sibling teasing and banter that they seemed to fall into naturally, effortlessly.

Having a brother, an honest to goodness brother, means having to face new definitions for two words to which she'd always believed she'd knew the meaning. Father had always meant Bail Organa, mother had always meant Breha Organa. In her heart of hearts, the words would always carry those meanings.

Father, however, now carries a dark and sinister meaning as well. Father now means Darth Vader. And Darth Vader means fear, torture, destruction and anguish. She tried to push those words out of her mind, but they stubbornly refused to leave. Luke insisted she'd someday believe as he did, that there had been good in the man that was Darth Vader, their _father_ Anakin Skywalker. She was not at that point yet, she was not sure she ever would be.

But Darth's, (no think Anakin it's easier) Anakin's last thought had been of her, his last words a plea to her. It was a powerful thing to be the subject of someone's last thoughts and words. Did they mean anything, or were those words just a dying man's plea for forgiveness? Had Anakin Skywalker ever been capable of love?

Maybe only their mother, whoever that mystery woman is, knew the answer to that question. Leia had asked Luke once why he had not questioned Obi-Wan about their mother. He'd sheepishly admitted it had never occurred to him. As a boy growing up he'd always been more interested in his father.

Typical male.

Those words brought to mind Han. If ever there was a typical male, he personified it. He is arrogant, obnoxious, and cocky. He is also playful, sarcastic, brave and loyal.

But of all the words Leia could think of to describe Han Solo the favorite was "hers."

That didn't make him any less frustrating though. How many times since "Into the garbage chute, flyboy," had she wanted to strangle her nerf herder Flyboy? She'd long ago given up counting.

On the other hand, how many times did she secretly thrill to being called "Your Worshipfulness"? She loves the fact that Han is completely unimpressed with her rank and title. It had been a new experience for her, one of many since meeting her Flyboy.

The most significant was to truly understand the meaning of the word "love." She had thought she understood its meaning. Certainly, in the context of loving her parents, Bail and Breha, she did. Loving good-natured Luke was similar in its simplicity, yet different. There was a poignancy to loving Luke, a certain sadness reflecting lost time.

Loving Han, however, was completely different. There was nothing easy about loving him; yet it was the most natural love Leia could imagine. Loving Han made her feel protected and safe, and fiercely protective at the same time. Loving Han set her soul free, even as the terror of losing him held her captive in its grip. She did not even want to contemplate what she might be capable of if anyone ever hurt her Flyboy.

Ruefully, she cleared her mind of such thoughts, now was not the time for them.

Leia turned to look at the man sleeping peacefully beside her. He looked younger while asleep, with that wayward lock of hair falling across his forehead. She reached out and gently brushed it off his forehead. But the lock, like the man it adorned, stubbornly refused to follow her direction and flopped back into place. She smiled amused that even his hair had a mind of its own.

"What are you staring at," the sleepily slurred voice caught her by surprise.

She smiled, "A scruffy looking nerf herder."

"Who you callin' scruffy looking?"

Leia smiled at the only acceptable response. This is a well practiced bit of banter that never grew old. "Only scruffy looking person around here is you, Flyboy."

Heaving a heavy put upon sigh Han replied, "Such abuse I take. It's a wonder that I love you."

_I love you._ Those simple words that Leia never gets tired of hearing roll off that otherwise cynical tongue.

"Yet you do," is her smug reply.

"I know," he said, getting the last word, sealing it with a kiss.


End file.
